Horcruxes and Other Delightful Objects
by Phylomedusa
Summary: The Golden Trio has been trying to solve the mystery of where the Horcruxes are. Who better to help them than Sherlock Holmes, mystery-lover and case-solving extraordinaire?
1. Chapter 1

The three teenagers squirmed uncomfortably on the sofa in the flat. John watched them with some form of curiosity. They were very strange, looking around the flat with poorly disguised awe, especially the redhead. He was particularly entranced when Sherlock's phone started to ring.

'Probably slow,' John mused. He wondered what case these three would bring. Hopefully something good, Sherlock had been shooting the walls all day, much to distress of Mrs. Hudson.

"Hermione," The redhead leaned over to whisper to the only girl of the group , "This seems a bit sketchy. Are you sure we should trust him? I know he's good, but is he good enough? We're breaking enough laws as it is." John's eyebrows raised a bit at that part. What could they be doing? Drugs, probably, if their appearance was anything to go by. John sighed to himself.

"Of course we should Ronald," She whispered back in a sure tone, "This is Sherlock Holmes we're talking about! He's absolutely brilliant."

"But Mione'! He's a muggle!" Ronald had protested. It took a sharp glare to silence him.

Sherlock swept into the room before John could wonder what on Earth a muggle was. "Sorry about the wait." He said coolly, "The idiots over at Scotland Yard wanted advice on how to actually see. It was quite obviously the butler who stole the painting."

"Sherlock?" John coughed and turned his head at the threesome. "We have guests!"

"Right, right, the client's." Sherlock waved his hand in boredom. He turned to the trio, who all sat a little straighter in his gaze. "Now, wizards, interesting. Not everyday that you stoop down to a muggle's level. Oh aren't you all interesting." He gazed at them intently.

"Sherlock, what? Wizards?" John gave a small chuckle. "They seem more likely to be drug addicts than wizards." All three of them bristled at the suggestion. John took no notice.

"Oh honestly John, it's obvious. Even you can see it." Sherlock replied in his typical offhand manner and aloof manner, too busy staring at the man with a strange scar on his forehead.

John decided to ignore the probably unintentional barb by turning his attention to the three clients. The first was sitting on the far left of the couch and had a thin, gangly frame, and innumerable amount of freckles, and the brightest red hair John had ever seen. The second was a woman who sat primly on the couch, despite her hair being extremely bushy and burned in some areas and the rather large spot of dirt on her nose. The last was a thin scrawny man with extremely messy hair, an odd lightning bolt scar on his forehead, and brilliantly green eyes covered by slightly cracked circle spectacles. They were an odd threesome, to be sure. They all were in tattered and dirty clothing, smelled like they all hadn't had a good shower in a good while, and were clutching sticks of varying color and length like their lives depended on it. That was probably where Sherlock got the wizard idea from. John mentally noted everything just in case this turned out to be good enough for Sherlock and thus John's blog. All of this observation took a little less than a second. Sherlock had been rubbing off on John, it seemed.

The green-eyed man stood up in panic. "How do you know wizards? Who told you?"

"Oh please, Anderson has more brains than the entire wizarding world combined." The redhead flushed with anger from the correctly perceived insult.

Before the redhead could form a coherent retort, John stood up. He could let Sherlock get away with lots of things, but believing in hogwash 'magic' wasn't one of them, "Sherlock, I know there are a lot of things I don't know, but one thing I do know that magic isn't real. Is this some sort of subculture, maybe?

"No, it's true sir! Here, let me demonstrate." The girl with bushy hair stood up and pulled out what could be assumed her wand. Before John could protest, she waved her wand in a series of motions around a teacup full of old tea and turned it into a small tortoise. John made a strangled sound that didn't sound quite human. Ignoring John's sound, the girl plowed into an explanation.

"You see? Magic is real! We really shouldn't be telling you this, under normal circumstances we'd be thrown in jail and your memories wiped, but these aren't normal circumstances. You see, there's this man named Voldemort-" The redhead let out a squawk of anger,

"Don't say his name!"

"-who's trying to take over the wizarding world, he's almost succeeded too. He's trapped pieced of his soul into objects by killing people so he could remain immortal and we're looking for them. They're called horcruxes, we've only found one and we need your help so we can figure out where the rest are. Ron's wearing Salazar Slytherin's locket right now, that's the only horcrux we've found so far, and it's been having noticeable effects on our mental health. Voldemort wants to kill all muggles -sorry, those are what wizards call non-magical people- and muggle-borns, magical people born to non magical people like myself. Oh! I'm terribly sorry, I've just realized that we haven't introduced ourselves. My name's Hermione granger," She pointed at the redhead, "He's Ron Weasley," She pointed at the boy with green eyes, "And he's Harry-"

"Potter," Sherlock responded, somehow still managing to sound cool and bored. "Of course I know who you are. I'm not an idiot you know. Turning my tea cup back into a tea cup would be appreciated by the way." Hermione gave a small jump and quickly tapped the toriouse with her wand to turn it back to it's original form.

"I'm sorry, what?" John blinked and rubbed his eyes a little, just to try to make sure that they were real and not part of his imagination.

"They need our help to find horcruxes. Honestly John, keep up." Sherlock said impatiently. "Now, where would Voldemort hide his horcruxes. You've already found two, so there are five more to go. Now, since Voldemort is obviously a half-blood who gave up his muggle roots. The only way he'd give up his muggle roots is if he had a bad childhood and wanted to cut himself off from it forever. He also has classic signs of psychopathy." Sherlock began to pace. " I'd know. Now, this means that important places to him are all that more important to him. Hogwarts is a definite place, probably in a hidden room that most people don't know about, already magically concealed, probably magical qualities in the room itself as well. It'd probably be hidden in plain sight, among lots of clutter I'd believe. I'm going to need more time on this, and I can't guarantee that I'm going to find all of them but-"

Ron suddenly stood up, his face bright red with anger and his fists clenched. "Why the bloody hell are you ready my best friends thoughts?" He yelled. "I've got enough on my plate as it is already and I don't need a bloody wizard pretending to be smart by using legilimency on defenseless muggles! In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if you were a slimy Death Eater working with You-Know-Who himself!"

"Ronald Weasley!" Hermione exclaimed at the same time John yelled "Watch yourself, he's the one helping you!"

Sherlock let out an agonizingly long sigh as if even being the room with those sorts of people was painful. "Really Mr. Weasley, you are being stressfully dull." Ron tensed, the tone reminding him of somebody painfully familiar, "Legilimency requires eye contact at all times, I don't suppose you didn't see me just pacing around the floor and thus not being able to look at Potter's eyes?"

"W-well you still could've done it earlier!" Ron spluttered. "You're obviously a wizard! No muggle can do that!"

"Ron!" Hermione scolded. Sherlock looked mildly amused. Ron at least had the decency to look slightly sheepish.

"Mate, nobody entered my mind. Even I can tell when someone's doing that." Harry said in what he obviously was hoping to be a soothing voice.

"Yes, yes. What was this about… magic being real? And a magical Moriarty?" John glared at the three strangers. "I don't know who the bloody hell you are what you want but let me tell you you won't be getting it easil-"

"John! These are clients and they have a case for me! As stupid as they are, they managed to come up with a decent case!" Sherlock stomped. Turning to the trio he added, "Though it wouldn't hurt to have a murder in it as well, but it'll work."

Ronald turned a tad green and angrily hissed something into Hermione's ear. Hermione huffed and smacked him.

John sank onto his chair in a huff and closed his eyes and rubbed his temples. He groaned when he saw the ragtag group still sitting in his couch. He sighed again, stood up, and said in a defeated tone, "How can we help?"

 **So this is my first story (hooray!) This is just an ideaa that I got in my head and couldn't get out. Not sure if I'm going to continue, but if you want more, leave a comment (already feel like I'm fanfic author , asking for reviews and everything *warm fuzzies*). So yeah! Buh-bye!**


	2. Chapter 2

It was a dreary Sunday morning when Sherlock walked into the Leaky Cauldron for the first time. Sherlock swept past the dingy tables and walked towards the bar ender. He already knew this wasn't a typical bar. How it was different, Sherlock wasn't sure, but he intended to find out.

It took a minute or two for the bartender to notice him. He shuffled over to Sherlock slowly and asked in a rough voice, "Need help finding the alley, eh?"

Sherlock nodded mutely, vaguely noting how the man was having an affair and followed the bartender to the back of the shop.

The bartender tapped a brick wall with a long, pointed stick. The bricks pulled themselves apart to reveal a bustling alley full of impossible phenomenons and strangely dressed people.

Sherlock's jaw dropped in shock. The bartender turned to Sherlock with a knowing grin. "First time in the alley? Foreigner I bet, heard the American alley isn't nearly as good as ours. My name's Tom, by the way."

Sherlock still hadn't torn his gaze away from the alley. His brain was whirling a thousand miles a minute at how _impossible_ it all was. "Sherlock Holmes." He responded feebly. How could any of this be possible. His mind was whirling with possibilities.

Tom gave Sherlock a strange look and began hero shuffle away. "Stay safe, You-Know-Who's might be back, if the Boy Who Lived is telling the truth. Can't trust anyone these days." Tom began to shuffle back to the bar, leaving Sherlock to his own devices.

Sherlock straightened up and without trepidation, he stepped into the alley.

Hours later, Sherlock stepped out of Diagon Alley with four large shopping bags and a wallet weighed down with thick round golden coins. It was a shock to find that of all things, _magic_ was real. What's more, magical people were absolute _idiots_! They could duplicate anything they wanted and make anything they wanted, and none of them seemed to realize it! Not to mention the absolutely stupid terrorist head that everyone was afraid of. Well, the Voldemort fellow was actually smart in wizard terms, but that wasn't saying much.

Sherlock didn't look at or touch food for three days after that trip to Diagon Alley, he was far too busy analyzing magic to be bothered with such mundane tasks as eating. On the fourth day, Mycroft paid a visit his brother.

"So I see you've discovered magic. I have to say, it took you longer than I thought you would." Mycroft said from the doorway.

"Shut up Mycroft," Sherlock muttered.

"Now, the standard protocol is to have your memory wiped, but I think we both know that won't work well on you."

Sherlock's eyes narrowed. "Well, considering how stupid wizards are it's surprising you aren't one." He responded snidely.

"No need to be rude, brother dear." Mycroft responded tartly. "I see you've been busy." Mycroft gestured towards the various magical items scattered across the kitchen table.

"I have and since you've so graciously pointed that out I hope you realize that I don't have time for you." Sherlock remarked coolly. "It's amazing that you've managed to keep your job intact with your declining intellect."

"Oh honestly Sherlock, I didn't come here to exchange barbs with you." Mycroft leaned on his umbrella, "I've come here to make sure you don't die while you're caught up with the new world you've discovered. What would Mummy say if I had to tell her that you died of hunger in your own kitchen?"

"She'd probably laugh thinking it was a joke and then faint when she figured out you weren't." Sherlock replied disinterestedly. He'd gone back to peering through his microscope.

"Mycroft held out a bag of Chinese takeout. "Just eat already."

Sherlock glared at him. "Fine."

Sherlock was broken out of his reverie (A reverie? He must be getting sentimental. Oddly enough, this didn't bother Sherlock nearly as much as he expected it to.) by John. "Tea, Sherlock?" John asked as he poured a cuppa for the three highly unusual guests. Harry and Ron both slurped and gulped their tea full of sugar, milk, and honey. Hermione tried to to be more polite and sipped her tea quickly. Sherlock eyed them with disdain.

"No." Sherlock paused for just a fraction of a second."Thank you."

John looked at Sherlock for just a second longer than necessary. "Alright then." John poured himself a cup of tea. "More for me then."

"I need to experiment." Sherlock said imperiously and walked swiftly away from the kitchen and into the stairway.

John stared after him, "Whatever makes you happy mate." John sipped his tea.

 **Hello again! I'm so happy people left reviews for me (a whole whopping ten! I know, it's so cool) And it just made me insanely happy. Sorry for such a short chapter after not updating for around two months :/. I've had a bit of an inspiration block. But hey, it works kind of! Don't forget to like and leave a review and stay awesomee!**


	3. Chapter 3

It had been a day since the teenagers had visited and turned John's world upside down. Magic had turned out to be real, a magical society turned out to be real, and even bloody magical terrorists existed. John really wished that he didn't have to meet one of those terrorists. He took another sip of tea.

"Well, now that you've told us your story, I'd think it's best for you to get going. Whoever you're guardians are, they must be worried sick about you." John flopped into his chair . "I'd know that I'd be worried." John immediately regretted saying that. The trio seemed to lose any cheerfulness they had, if that was possible, at the mention of family. John could recognize the look in their eyes. It was the look of war. It was the worst with the one with the scar (Harry, John though his name was). His eyes had clouded with grief for only the briefest of seconds before a wall seemed to come up; covering his emotions. How someone so young had already witnessed war made John's heart ache in sympathy and sadness.

"We don't exactly have anywhere to stay. We've been staying in a tent for the past couple of months." Harry explained stiffly. "Hermione would ward the area so Death Eaters couldn't find us and its magically bigger on the inside, so it's not too bad."

"I'm sure that Mrs. Hudson would be delighted to let you stay downstairs in 221 C. It has a bit of mold though and it's a bit dark, but it sure beats a tent." John offered.

Sherlock's eyes lit up. "Yes! Perfect. You'll be staying with us."

John gave Sherlock a strange look. Since when did Sherlock take in homeless teenagers? John wasn't complaining, though. "Mrs. Hudson?" He called from his seat. "Is it all right if our clients stay downstairs for a little while?"

"Those young ones that came in earlier? Sure! Nobody ever stays down there anyways." Mrs. Hudson called back from downstairs. "I'll get downstairs ready, but this is the only time I'll do it. I'm not your housekeeper!"

John grinned, "Thanks Mrs. Hudson!"

Hermione stepped forward. "Thank you so much, but this is really too-" Harry elbowed her and gave her a poisonous look. "Ow! This is really quite generous of you. Thank you." She corrected. They all stood awkwardly.

"Hey! Is that my wand?" Ron suddenly exclaimed.

"Yes. For a weapon of mass power, you don't pay much attention to it." Sherlock remarked idly as he twisted the wand in his long pale fingers. But before Sherlock could give it back, the door blasted wide open and a strange woman walked out.

She wore a black dress that was made of leather and fishnets and hat curly hair that went every witch way. It was her eyes that were the most unsettling though. There were deep bags underneath them and they seemed to be red… from crying? Despite that, there was still a wicked gleam in her eyes. John shivered and reached for his gun before remembering that it was still in his room.

"Well well well, why if it isn't Harry Potter himself and his little gang of a mud blood and a blood traitor." She purred. Harry tensed and reached for his wand. "Didn't realize you all stopped so low to conspire with scum!" Bellatrix aimed her wand at Sherlock and a green light shot out of it. Sherlock was barely able to duck in time to avoid it. Sherlock practically ran to the knife on the mantel piece. Bellatrix growled in rage and set a jet of Dark spells after him. Sherlock was able to avoid all but one.

"Imperio!" Bellatrix laughed. Sherlock went rigid. His eyes began to glaze over bit by bit. He tried to shake his head and the glazes look in his disappeared slightly.

"John, get your gun. Get your gun now!" Sherlock yelled.

"Silence!" Bellatrix shouted.

Everyone in the room seemed to go quiet for just a second. Then Harry shouted "Expelliarmus!"

Soon Harry and Hermione were all throwing spells at Bellatrix, who dodged them all expertly. Ron wasn't able to do anything for his wand was still firmly clamped between the fingers of Sherlock.

Sherlock still hadn't moved when John had gotten back downstairs with his gun. John pointed the gun at Bellatrix and without thinking, he shot the gun.

Bellatrix screamed as the bullet lodged itself in her shoulder. "How dare you hurt me this way with a muggle weapon!" She shrieked. She flung the killing curse at John, but John had already predicted that she would do that and moved away.

Sherlock was able to move again now that Bellatrix had taken her attention off him. He flexed his fingers and punched Bellatrix in the face. He tossed Ron's wand back to Ron and Ron shouted some of the nastiest (legal) hexes there were.

"Finally!" He shouted. Bellatrix apparated away with a large CRACK leaving 221B behind. Everyone was silent again. A piece of plaster fell from the ceiling and there were a row of scorch marks all over the wall.

It was this moment that Mrs. Hudson teetered up the stairs and in a sweet voice she said. "Boys. What the HELL have you done to my apartment?"

 **Okay, I am SO SORRY for not updating. I wish I could say that I was really busy with school and drama... But I wasn't. I just forgot to update. I actually wrote the first chapter in a splurge of inspiration and the rest was more of an ad on. I have no outline and I've been making this up as I go. I'm going to make an outline soon, though, but any ideas for this fic would be greatly appreciated! Again, I am so sorry for not updating.**


	4. this story is dead ouch

12 yr old me was wilding lmao

maryama if ur reading this ur a g

also bbc sherlock isnt a good show so yeah


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